The Fine Art of SelfDestruction
by J-to-the-Essica
Summary: CarterLorne.  Written for the rarepairings ficathon at livejournal.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Spoilers: Season 10 'The Road Not Taken'

Thanks: Sid, this is your (un)inspiring note of thanks. Hope you like it. ;)

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"_Well, if it brought you here, is it possible that it sent our Carter to your universe?"_

"_I'm sorry, it doesn't work that way."_

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She almost misses the flash of grief in his eyes, half-blinded by the glare from the television screen and her own regret, because, really, watching yourself die, even if it's not really you, is a bit of a mind-fuck. She knows her Major Lorne only on a cursory, professional level, but she's familiar with loss and despair and she sees both on his face in that brief moment before he turns away and leaves the room.

The silence left in his wake is awkward and heavy, and Sam looks up to find Bill Lee studying her.

"What?"

"They were close," he says blandly as he pushes his chair away from the table. "The General will be in shortly."

He closes the door behind him with a barely audible click and Sam runs an agitated hand through her hair, wondering what it is that Bill's not telling her.

He knows logically that she's not his Sam Carter, but her eyes are the same, wide and so _fucking _blue, and he feels that familiar lurch in his stomach when she sits down next to him that has nothing to do with the mess meatloaf he'd consumed earlier. She shoots him an apologetic smile as she waves the bartender over.

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"Gin and tonic, please," she says quietly, and then almost as an afterthought, "And whatever he's having."

"I'm good," he counters, studying the contents of his tumbler sullenly. "In fact, I was just leaving."

Sam places her hand on his forearm, squeezing gently. "Wait."

It's not a command, really, but it's not a plea, either. Her voice is soft and pitched low and hits him with all the subtlety of a freight train. God.

"I know you've been avoiding me," she begins after her drink is set in front of her and her attempts to pay waved off. She's a hero after all. "And normally I'd respect that, but I need your help."

He sighs and she must take this as capitulation because she removes her hand and wipes the condensation from her glass instead. She licks her lips nervously before meeting his gaze. "I've read some of your mission reports."

"Yeah?"

"There are a lot of parallels."

"Yeah?" And no, he can't keep the irritation out of his voice this time.

She expels a sharp, explosive sigh and smiles self-deprecatingly. "God, this is going to sound so stupid, and incredibly egocentric."

He doesn't want to make this easy on her, but she's looking at him the way she used to and his resolve crumbles. "What is it?"

"I just…I mean, I know that in the grand scheme of things every one of us is replaceable, but I don't understand why the only one who seems upset by Major Carter's death is you."

Her words sink heavily between them, like stones in water, and Evan's breath leaves him in a rush so swift his head swims. Jesus.

They don't talk about this; they never have. He isn't really sure what 'this' is, only that his body hums in her presence. There are two failed marriages and years of blood between them, and always the unspoken agreement that any feelings, if that's what they were, had to be ignored and pushed (forcibly) aside in lieu of duty.

Only this Sam Carter doesn't play by the rules. "Look, is there somewhere we can go to talk?"

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She pins him aggressively against the wall and realizes two things at once: the move is reminiscent of her seduction of Pete all those (three) years ago, and Evan Lorne is a lot more solid than he looks. He hisses in pain, or maybe surprise, and Sam takes this opportunity to slide her tongue against his teeth, and then deeper. He groans into her mouth and she can literally feel his resistance melt as she runs her hands underneath his shirt.

She's almost afraid to break the kiss, oxygen be damned, thinks he'll push her away, and it is only when he buries his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck that she lessens the intensity of her attack, pulling away with a gentle nip to his bottom lip.

"Jesus," he whispers shakily, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against hers. "That was…"

"Unexpected?" she asks quietly.

"Incredible," he parries, pressing his lips against her temple, and then lower, mapping her face until he captures her lips again. This kiss is sweet, brief, and it nearly breaks her heart.

"I'm not her."

He pulls away suddenly, his eyes dark with lust, tempered now with surprise. "I know."

"Do you? I look like her, talk like her, hell, I probably even sm---"

Evan cuts her off with lips, and teeth, and tongue, and she's finding it hard to breathe, let alone think of reasons why this isn't a good idea when his mouth is so hot against hers and his arousal is pressed low against her belly.

"Shut up, Sam," he murmurs against her lips.

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He traces the puckered skin at her side with the tip of his finger, mesmerized by the scar, which he knows from experience is fairly new. There are other imperfections marring her pale skin, but this one is an ugly, angry branding.

"Ori staff weapon," Sam mutters sleepily, stilling his finger with one cool hand. Sunlight streams in through the blinds he'd never gotten around to closing the night before, and her hair is luminous against the dark pillowcase. She opens her eyes and grins. "Good morning."

Evan smiles self-consciously and ducks down to kiss the smooth skin of her shoulder. "I made breakfast."

Sam runs her thumb against the back of his hand absently, sending jolts of desire and need through him. "I can't stay," she says quietly.

He's not sure if she's referring to breakfast or this reality in general. Probably both. She sits up, dislodging his hand and he fights to keep his eyes trained to hers when the sheet slides sibilantly down her torso. He stands up and allows her to slip past him, gathering her clothes from the floor before disappearing into the bathroom.

He experiences a flash of self-loathing so sharp his chest aches with the intensity of it. He closes his eyes against the sudden onslaught of images and crashes to the edge of the bed. It hadn't been perfect, or even mind-blowing, really, but it had been heated, and passionate, and so goddamned good.

"You think you've betrayed her?" She's leaning in the doorway, buttoning her blouse with a forced nonchalance that he recognizes immediately because he's seen it a hundred times, just not on this particular woman.

"Betrayal isn't the right word. I just…we let regs stand in our way for so long. I always thought there'd be an after, you know? But this is permanent…there's no last minute reprieve. She's not coming back."

"No."

He meets her shadowed gaze across the room and she looks so familiar, so beautiful and concerned and he feels his heart turn over just a little. "Unless…?"

God, he hopes he doesn't sound as pathetic as he feels.

Her face softens as she approaches him and the sheen of tears in her eyes is unmistakable. "She and I are a lot alike, Evan, but there are a thousand tiny differences, and you'd know them all. I'm not who you want."

"You're wrong," he lies.

She smiles and presses a gentle kiss against his forehead. "I have to go."

Before she can back away, he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in her stomach. He allows himself to be soothed by her scent, and the elegant, capable fingers running through his hair. She plants one last kiss on the crown of his head and with lithesome grace extracts herself from his embrace.

She makes it to the door before Evan calls out, "Sam? When you get home, why don't you look me up?"

Her answering grin warms him.


End file.
